Behind The Eyes
by Princess Pinky
Summary: Who will be there to take care of his helpless, innocent little girl, since he can't?


**A/N:** This is an idea I've had for a long time now, but I just never got it finished until recently. It's a very, very short ficlet one-shot.

_**Behind The Eyes**_

_The blinds were drawn in his room and the sunlight bathed everything in a honey color. It was so still he could see the dust levitating in the air. There was also a sound, faint, that tickled at the back of his memory; a tender creak-woosh. As he closed the door, he realized where the sound had originated from. "Mom?"_

"_Benjamin." Sarah spoke his name on the edge of her lips and lifted her finger to them. "Shhh. I just got her to sleep."_

_Ben recoiled as she dazed down at the bundle tucked into her arms. "Is that-" He found himself unable to finish the thought, let alone move from his place in front of the door. She looked just like she remembered in all those old baby book photos, sitting there in the rocking chair his father had built for her by hand._

"_She's just as beautiful as you predicted," she grinned, unable to take her eyes off the bundle._

_The teenager felt his face grow sticky and hot. "She's like a doll sized version of Adrian," he whispered._

"_She's got your father's smile." Sarah looked up, the glow on her face almost matching the color spilling through the window. "You've got your father's smile." Her laugh chimed like two toasting crystal champagne glasses. "And she sleeps with the tip of her tongue between her lips like Leo does too."_

_Somehow, the back of his hand found his cheek and rubbed away the clear stains. "I've missed you so much, Mom."_

"_I know, Ben. I've missed you too." Sarah continued to push back and forth in the chair. "But you sent me someone to keep me company."_

"_I never even got a chance to know her."_

"_She's wonderful." Sarah pressed her legs to the floor and halted the rocking chair. "Would you like to hold her?"_

_Ben nodded eagerly and stretched out his arms. They shivered as his mother rose and moved to him, setting the bundle into his awaiting arms. He was afraid to pull her close; afraid that if he did, he might look down and see a blue, lifeless face again. But he didn't: her face was plump and pinkish-tan, as alive as his mother's looked. "Hello," he whispered._

_Tiny eyelids parted and a pair of brown eyes stared up at Ben._

"_Do you know who I am?" he asked, gently bouncing the bundle in his arms._

_Sarah placed a hand to her son's shoulders. "She's been waiting a long time to meet you. Trust me: she knows who you are."_

"_I wish Adrian was here to see her too." His words hung in the silence. Beneath the blanket, he could feel her tiny arms and legs wriggling. Oh, how he had waited so long to feel that; how he thought, that day that stretched on forever in the hospital, how he never would and, after Mercy, never wanted to feel it. "She's so little…"_

"_Don't worry, son," Sarah soothed. "I've been with her every step of the way. I'm taking care of her; she'll never be alone."_

"_Sometimes I think I hear her crying." Ben moved his finger to the corner of Mercy's mouth. "And then I remember…"_

_Sarah stepped behind her son and pressed her hand softly to the left side of his chest, just above her granddaughter's head. "She's always with you, Ben. Just as I am."_

_Mercy's tiny fist punched through the blanket, causing a flap of fabric to fall down over Ben's lower arm. Her little fingers, no bigger than a Barbie's foot, flexed in-and-out, in-and-out._

_Ben lifted his finger to touch the satin touch of her palm; as he did, four little fingers and a thumb wrapped themselves around his finger. He noted her tight grip, just like her mama's. His heart contracted behind his ribcage. For a split second, he could imagine her at the age of sixteen, twirling a baton for the Grant High majorette team. Or maybe showing up John Juergens as she hit a homer during little league practice._

_Sarah kissed his cheek. "Ben," she whispered guiltily, "our time is coming to an end."_

_Ben shook his head. "Please, not yet! I haven't had long enough!"_

_Sarah rubbed his shoulders. "Forever isn't long enough."_

_Ben could feel the tears arching down his cheeks as he leaned in to kiss his baby girl's head and nose and cheeks. "I love you! I love you! I love you!" He found that he couldn't say it enough. And when the word began to dissolve, he held tighter and began to shout: "I love you! I love you!" His head lifted and he saw his mother disappearing into a wormhole of white light. "I love you."_

"_I love you, Benjamin."_

"I love you!" Ben said, opening his eyes to the sound of his own voice. He felt warm all over and it took him several minutes to realize where he was: safe and sound, in his own bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. He closed his eyes again, hoping to return to the moment where the pillow was replaced with his long lost daughter. But he already knew that once a dream was gone; it was gone.

He suddenly became aware of the hot water on his cheeks and the cold wet spot on the pillow beneath his face. Ben rolled over and stared at the clock on his dresser. It was nearly time for the funeral and he still couldn't quite believe how he was burying his own daughter before he'd ever even met her. Then he sat up and closed his eyes, trying to screencap that moment when she grabbed his finger in his mind's eye: so strong, so determined. He _did_ meet her.

Ben pushed himself off the bed. Dressed in a black suit, tie, and white dress shirt as he was, he was hot and sweating. He felt almost claustrophobic in his own clothes. He moved to his desk, hoping to shake off the feeling by moving around some. Instead, his eyes landed on the sonogram photo of his daughter: it sat face up, frameless, next to a framed photograph of his mother.

There was a soft knock at the door, but Ben didn't turn around. "Ben?" Leo's voice called. "Are you ready? We have to get going."

"I'll be down in a minute."

"I'll have Mike waiting for us."

Ben didn't respond. He heard the door click into place, but his eyes stayed on the photographs. He suddenly decided that he needed a new frame: a frame that could house _both_ pictures. He picked up his mother's frame and pulled off the back, taking the picture out. Then he lifted Mercy's sonogram and held them edge-to-edge. He kissed Sarah's photo, then Mercy's, before sliding them into alignment together, Mercy's on top, and pressing them against the left of his chest.

"I love you," he whispered. "Come visit me." He allowed his lids to come together, blocking out the world as it was. He could see his mother in her rocking chair again, holding Mercy in her arms, and he tried to hold onto that image for as long as humanly possible. "Come visit me behind the eyes."


End file.
